


Control

by infinite_regress



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Control freak and man who can not be controlled, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, One Shot, Romance, Sweetness, character exploration, feeling, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_regress/pseuds/infinite_regress
Summary: She can't control this, and in the end she decides it's okay not to try.





	Control

She can’t control him. She knows this, yet her need to keep everything in her life closely stacked, him included, doesn’t diminish. That’s why she insists on Wednesdays, to have one part of his wildness she can tame, something she can depend on finding in its right place even when the universe has turned in on itself. 

He’s insinuated himself into the very core of her being. Made himself indispensable to her, made her small life so large that she can’t see her way back. She doesn’t think she needs to, anyway. She’s not going in that direction. Just forwards with him, relatively speaking. 

He’s bristling with energy even now, when the fight has gone out of her because they’ve just run the gauntlet of Shezazi Minor and saved the frog King, another improbable mystery solved and planet secured, and really would it be too much to ask for a cup of tea and hot bath now? He forgets sometimes, that she is human and wears out, but it all crashes back on him occasionally and he remembers she’s more breakable than him. He doesn’t like to think of it, she can tell by the way he flushes and almost stutters through a speech on taking care. It’s annoying and embarrassing and she likes it more than she cares to admit. 

He was the first alien she ever met. Of course she’s met countless others now, but he’s the strangest and most familiar of them all, this man with two hearts and a screwdriver to fix things. And that’s what he does, rattling around the universe in his magic blue box, passing through, helping out when no one else is crazy enough to try. Stopping the monsters. Silencing the demons. But who, she wonders, at the end of it all, fixes him?

They communicate more in glances and brief touches than words. Yet ultimately it leaves too many lose ends, questions unanswered, and really, people like them, they should stop running and say things to one another. 

But how can she stop a whirlwind? She can’t, of course, all she can do is get swept along, clinging to a semblance of order (Wednesdays) that offers her some sense of control. 

The most beautiful people are the saddest, sometimes, and she catches him, not often, but often enough, with a lost look in his eye. He never asks, but sometimes she thinks he needs to hold her, just to feel the warmth of her skin, and know there’s one constant in this universe of chaos. She wonders what it would be like to hold him deeply, to know him completely, but there are some lines he’s drawn that she dare not push past. 

And yet he’s looking at her now like he needs something.

“Doctor?”

He just shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you need,” she says carefully.

“Nor do I,” he says. 

There’s something alive between them now, spinning out like a golden thread, hypnotic, terrifying, beautiful. He doesn’t move, and nor does she because to move might break the spell. He can’t take his eyes off her, and she’s wilting under his gaze, heating up like something inside her has boiled over. His eyes flick down to her lips, and she understands.

“Its okay. You won’t break me,” she whispers. 

Again the small shake of his head, but this time she reaches her hand to his face, and something snaps. 

This kiss has been a long time in the making. 

It’s urgent, raw, and fierce. It’s an unforgiving kiss, one that will can’t be undone. A kiss that sets her on fire. 

“Clara, I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says with absolutely no conviction at all. He’s swept her up into his arms now, and she’s almost gasping. 

“Okay. We’d better stop,” she whispers, her hands untucking his t-shirt to find a small patch of bare skin on his back.

He growls into her neck. 

Stopping is impossible. She can’t control this, and she doesn’t want to. She’s swept away by the hurricane. 

He’s a storm, but he’s her storm. And that’s okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just amusing myself and playing with different styles.   
> Comments and kudos welcome as ever. X


End file.
